Vinter Year 502 | Fenrir's haunting howls have ushered in a great and terrible winter. All throughout the valley thick blankets of snow fall and hide away whatever foliage lay beneath. Temperatures plummet throughout the night with gharrish winds that seem to slip through every mortals very bones. Even the Wastelands can feel it, a great chill sweeping up the slopes of the ravine and across the sands during the night. Best to turn your eyes to the Houses for safety if you haven't already, nonpartisans. The lingering dark and shortened days mean nothing but ill for the Valley. It will be a winter to remember, and fight, surely.

OOC News

▶︎12.17.18 Unfortunately due to admin error some of our current templates are a little screwy (primarily in our footer and recent threads). Please bare with us while we sort out the problems and restore Fim back to its true state!

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be swift!

A veil of benevolence had fallen over the Slidr River Valley as spring neared it's wane and the solstice of summer steadily rode along the horizon. It brought an illusion security with the deliverance of new born babes. Fawn lapped at rivers and snacked lazily in the vales while rabbit kits crested the viridian seas of grass. It almost seemed as if there were truly no cares in the world.

But a darkness lurks. Can you feel it? It's right behind you. Watching you. A lone doe inching through the forest can feel it, she can sense it... her ears swivel and those wide abyssal eyes sweep through the sharp shadows of late evening as they stretch through the red wood. Despite golden light slashed through the sinister stygian phantasms, there was a chill that prickled the doe's spine that she couldn't quite shake. Every time she planted her cloven hooves into the fertile sod, her visage darted a new direction, following that unsettling sensation of being watched. A pressure remained at her dorsal, lapped at her hocks and causing her white ventral tail to sink into her rear.

Snap.

Rather than run she lurches into a broad stance, neck craned awkwardly to the trees she'd left behind. There's nothing there... but there is. She knows it. She can smell it. Like a hint of dank, sullied with a rancid pinch of hot, permeating sweat. The black of her nostrils twitched, and she wasn't quite sure but was that also.... stale blood?

She could no longer stay.

Like an arrow loosed from an eager squire's bow she shot away, a flurry of last autumn's leaves in her wake. Long strides carried her far and quickly, a bounding picture of grace fighting through the quickening darkness of sunset. Sides heaving and her lungs aching for more oxygen she ran. If she went far enough North, she'd slip into the realm protected by Espen and perhaps she would be safe. Just maybe she cou-

All she registered at first was the clack of her head against the rocky soil. Then the ache of her neck as her back plummeted back towards the terra and her legs ripped through the air like whips. Dazed, the doe struggled to her hooves. There wasn't really telling what was worse; the pain burning along her neck and spine or the blur and double of her vision as it slowly focused. With a deep draw of air to try and calm herself, the sickening stench of recent kill flushed her nostrils. Her lids fluttered and her hooves reeled her away, but... it followed. Looking down, she could see the stains of blood soaking through her coat upon her forelegs, and she traced her path back towards the skinned body of a stag - his rack, which she would have found impressive, still somehow intact but lipped pearly clean.

Heart sinking, she scrambled away again, turning as quickly as she could, but as she did another body - another doe - hung limp, mangled, and distressed from old naked branches. The doe, now covered with the filth of death, wanted to scream but found no sound within herself. A desperate glance over her shoulder and - oh by the gods there it was!

She shot off again, ducking beneath the hanged body and slinking into the deeper recesses of the Red Wood's Last Stand. There was no registering the sheer amount of bodies strewn through this region of the forest; from boar, fox, deer, to all manners of small game, the air was putrid with a metallic twang that made her stomach lurch and inners pucker. Determined to survive her pursuer, she ran north. Towards the lands of Espen. Towards the only salvation from the terror at her back.

If she could just keep going, keep her footing, she'd-

She was gone, bulldozed from her path by another terror unseen, hidden and waiting. All that remained of her was her trails of blood as she was drug into the crepuscular forest. Higher the night would crawl until the soft golden glow of before fell to the swallow of purple, that would later deepen to blue. Her death seemed enough to add to the sickness. In culmination of the strewn bodies - for oh, the once great wood of the Bloodless seemed but a graveyard for the forgotten now - the stench wafted with the cool winds of twilight. For miles one would smell it, for miles there would be evidence of these kills, these... murders. Flesh rendered but not eaten. Exposed bone lapped clean until they shown as brilliant as a diamond. The buzz of flies feasting on the carrion replaced the song of birds.

Something was here.

Something is waiting.

Something is happening! What could these grizzly murders mean for the Valley? House members and nonpartisans alike are welcome to respond to this gruesome adventure. Participation will close on July 2nd or once a twelve [12] character cap has been reached. An illusive and plot unique item awaits all those who reply at the end of this multi-part SWP for those willing to take a little chance!

At the bottom of each of your replies you must state one of the following:

"I, [username], do NOT allow [character name] to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by not consenting to the former statement [character name] does NOT have the ability to receive the plot specific item.

"I, [username], CONSENT to allow [character name] to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by consenting to the former statement [character's name] has the ability to receive the plot specific item.

In the light of recent events, it was always nice to take a calm, soothing stroll through the unknown. Caelian was an adventurer, and he felt he had been cooped up hiding within the borders of Ambrosius for a bit too long. He longed for the fresh air of the outside and for new lands. No matter how much he loved his House, that longing would always be within him. And he intended to follow it today. He intended to go on an adventure, and perhaps stupidly, alone. It would set him free once more to fly like a kite.

So finally coming upon a decision, Caelian left quite suddenly and abruptly for a week vacation. He knew his House was well looked after, and he needed this time for himself, to rediscover what was held in store for him and to ponder over the future of Ambrosius. He intended to solve the puzzle of his destiny, though he wished it was as easy to read as writing on the wall.

Yet it wasn’t. After a full day of travel, the freckled stallion finally came to the edge of the Nogr Evergreens and crossed over into Dael. Ah Dael, what a beautiful land. Its lush and fertile soil filled it with such warmth and welcoming that Caelian wondered why he did not come here more often. Oh how he breathed in the silence and comfort around him; it filled his lungs with new life. But as he bent his head to take a drink from a fresh streams that ran through Dael, he knew he would not stay here long. He would continue his journey through the redwoods, as he was always told they were a spectacular sight worth his time.

Continuing his journey once more, it took him a day to travel through Dael and into Red Wood’s Last Stand. Upon entering the magnificent forest, a silence rested upon Caelian unlike anything he had ever experienced. It pricked at his nerves and filled him with such a eerie sense that he wondered if he should even be here. Suddenly, a breeze hit him in the face, blowing his mane away from his muzzle. With it came a stench unlike anything he’d smelt before. The metallic twang reminded him of only one thing; these woods smelt like death. Not just one death, not just a few deaths, but multitudes of death for miles and miles. Curiosity overcame the stallion, as well as a hint of fear and an overwhelming emotion of sadness and slight anger. He wanted to know what had happened here, so close to his House.

Stepping deeper into the forest, grizzly scenes began to show themselves to the young sovereign. A deer hung above his head, its eyes popping and its mouth hanging open. Caelian wrinkled his snout in disgust as he passed under it, his pale eyes darting to his surroundings in the growing dark. Another deer lay dead nearby, a skinny stag who’s bones flashed through the black. As Caelian continued, the death came more and more frequently, including all kinds of small game and other prey, even foxes. Yet there was something the freckled stallion noticed about all these deaths: none of them had been eaten. This beast was killing for the fun of it.

For some reason, the king was not afraid. He was surrounded by death on all sides, yet he had been filled with a hatred for whomever had done this to these poor animals. He exhaled slowly, his nares flaring as his baby blues searched the land. This was a mystery to him, and he intended to figure it out by dawn. If only he’d brought Nevermore or Ragnor with him…

CONTRACT "I, Flurry, CONSENT to allow Caelian to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by consenting to the former statement Caelian has the ability to receive the plot specific item.

Alabaster and khol along her dorsal prickled, standing on end as the goose flesh beneath spread. Adrenaline and excitement spilled into her veins like a fast-release drug. "I smell it." she whispered into the darkness, into the trees. Of course she did. Like a moth to the flame, carrion drew the wicked little bitch from whatever corner of the continent she'd been hiding. Periwinkle tresses lashed against her sides as hooves of equal color jittered beneath her. A fore rose high, shoulder craning like a pike through her leathery skin, before the dagger plugged into the forest floor and dug haphazardly. A chortle erupted from her faintly-skeleton marked muzzle, not unlike a forsaken chorus of angels; enchanting, beautiful, but vaguely threatening. "I smell it!" she growled to the Women Within, a sharp jolt of her visage to the side quivering the muscle upon her frame. Ash lips ripped back to reveal the obsidian fangs below - curved, thick, weapons - and they twitched with anticipation. She could feel them at her chest, pushing her back. Not yet...

Pupil-less eyes darted through the darkness. She could hear the buzz of the flies as they swarmed to whatever carcasses lay strewn. Some were close, some where far... so her wait didn't matter. There was plenty to go around.

"Such a patient girl, Maren.""A wonderful good girl she is!""Is she ready?"

"I'm ready," she breathes in response, her body stilling. Her legs cease to churn, but plant squarely into the loam below. Where fangs had once been exposed, the alabaster curtains fell to hide them. Maren's visage lowered slowly, her tear stained orbs trained forward into the dull midnight shadows. "Ready...", she echoed.

"Then go!"

No hesitation. She jolted forward like a bullet, lithe legs hammering into the ground for purchase as she tears away into the wood. Unlike the silent haunt of phantoms, Maren's ghostly image is betrayed by the thunder of her hooves and the intensity of her breath. Brume plumes from her nostrils as her breathing grows not only labored, but erratic with thrill. These soft clouds leave trails of the same perriwinkle behind her, a reminder of a sire long forgotten and long left behind.

Like an apprentice hunter the thin girl crashes through the wood. Perhaps animals would have spooked if any had been left behind... Not one, not two, but several corpses she passed. Each spurred the slightest of chuckles in her throat, but she dared not stop. Some hang from branches, others tossed to the bushes. Most lay mangled upon the forest floor. None of them were eaten. They were but defiled and reaped before their time. Maren considered such power, to lay waste like this so quickly and violently. It tickled her with a girlish charm. Oh, twas only a hopeless dream.

Further still she travelled, until her legs grew tired of the sharp jars the uneven terrain offered and the stones from her leaps downward threatened to bruise her frogs. Slower and slower she reined herself - much to the Women Within's teasing - until another figure moved through the trees. Her gaze flashed to them, brow high with interest and another wicked smile pulling back on her ashen lips. Without thought she altered the trajectory of her course to the only living thing she'd seen since she'd entered these forsaken Redwood. She drew upon the freckled stallion's path, halting before him so that he could progress no further. With her ichor mane strewn across her nape and her forelock a ripped veil she peered at the man. There was something stately about him, but it hardly held her interest. "Come to enjoy the view?" Her blackened lips ripped back into a hellish smile, her eyes wide and expectant.

I, Soupi, CONSENT to allow Maren to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by consenting to the former statement [character's name] has the ability to receive the plot specific item.

The trees in this area were bigger than any she had seen before, with the exception of the Bifrost. Ezera almost couldn't believe that trees like this could exist but here they were. She hadn't even been sure of where she had been going. Something deep within the mute's gut had told her to keep moving west, away from her new home. She felt oddly guilty about just leaving without at least telling Andante or Iracebeth but there had been no time. The feeling had been persistent and probably wouldn't have let her take a detour anyway.
By the time she reached the trees the feeling had turned to a burning anxiety. Her stomach refused to settle as she got further and that was before she caught the scent of rust and copper. Ezera froze for a moment and gently moved her mouth around to see if the smell was coming from her own body. It wouldn't have been a surprise if it had been but she couldn't feel any of the crimson liquid that normally dripped from her muzzle. The unicorn wasn't sure she wanted to find out where the source was but it was too late to turn back. Blood didn't scare her anyway, not after what had happened to her parents.
Of course, there was a difference between seeing two bodies and seeing over a dozen. The scent of copper was overwhelming even to her. But it wasn't the blood that caused Ezera to freeze again. It was the carnage that suddenly surrounded the area. Never before had she seen so many... pieces of animals. A silent scream caught in her throat. If her mouth hadn't been sewn shut the meager contents of her stomach would have been in the bushes. Instead she took deep breaths through her nose and tried to keep from bolting away. Whatever had pulled her here was still doing so.
It took the mare a moment to realize that not everything around was dead. Two figures stood amid the pieces of the animals. For a split second Ezera wondered if one of them could have done this but both seemed just as interested. Whoever, or whatever, had done this wasn't there now. A shudder passed through her body while she moved to stand close by, golden eyes unable to take in everything. She didn't even bother using her magic to say anything since there was nothing that could be said. The mute just slowly shook her head as salty tears ran down her cheeks.

"I, Arabella, CONSENT to allow Ezera to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by consenting to the former statement Ezera has the ability to receive the plot specific item."

It was not hard for the young man to pick up on the metallic stench of blood that wafted heavily within the air. Blood by itself did not bother him, for he himself preyed on creatures small than he and from time to time, even larger. The only concern was if the heavy stench would pose a threat toward his newly acquired kingdom. His wavy locks fell toward one side as he moved, standing to cloven hooves. With a scowl etched across his features he prowled through the night with all the elegance of a hunter, hushed footfalls lead him toward the outskirts of Tryggr and into the lands of the Sildr river Valley.

With the hefty cologne of carnage growing stronger here the dark being stretched his nares to drink in the smell in an attempt to pinpoint the exact location. Tail whipping from one side to the other he eased his way into the tall trees, being mindful of surroundings. The bodies quickly began to show themselves, strung through various tree branches and lying all along the ground. Andante's dark red eyes scanned the carcasses with a deep frown etched across his face. What a complete waste of food... He muttered to himself in a low tone of voice. Although he was perplexed as to what would kill so much without having an interest of eating any of it.

A snort exited his ebon nostrils as he decided to press on, wondering just how many bodies littered the entirety of the forest. The hum of insects was a clear indicator that there were in fact many but that alone did not cure his curiosity. Further along he walked until he picked up the faint scent of Ezera. If he was not worried before he was now. The boy's heart pounded hard within his chest as he found himself cantering in the direction of the mare. He slowed upon seeing her silhouette unharmed but his skin still prickled with worry. Ezera! What are you doing here? He hissed through a whisper, inching closer whilst keeping his senses keen.

"I, Kagome, CONSENT to allow Andante to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by consenting to the former statement Andante has the ability to receive the plot specific item.

Nonpartisan

This place was already making Halani feel ill at ease, even before she stumbled across the corpses. What had started as an eager adventure of a wandering soul would soon turn to a nightmare. The smell of copper was sickening-- there was so much. It permeated everything in the area. Blood soaked into the ground and it squished occasionally beneath her sturdy obsidian hooves. Halani flattened her slightly curled ears against the elegant curl of her neck as if that might help wash away these bad feelings. It, of course, did nothing other than stifle her sense of hearing. She would not feel the gentle caress of loneliness on her heart for long, as it would seem she was not alone. While most of the bodies were dead, there were several still breathing horses. Curiously Halani found herself a place slightly removed from the group. She was not fearful of them, the exact opposite actually. She was foolishly brave, a fault her father had warned her about many moons ago.

Though despite her desire to learn more about these strange creatures, she was far better as an observer. As a certified hunter, Halani knew she could learn more about what was going on with her wits in tact. No sense in wasting time, she supposed. Dropping her head she began to sniff at the blood. An acrid and horrible smell, though the deep saturation of the permeating smell led her to believe this was relatively fresh. There were more stains that had gone nearly brown, undoubtedly older.

Halani's focus drifted from the blood to the surroundings as she looked for anything off about the scenery. Broken branches, disheveled rocks, or even something as simple as uneven ground. Every little detail was a clue. Though nothing was immediately jumping out at her and she found her gaze falling upon the grouping of horses again. All much taller than her, and certainly stranger than anything she had ever seen before. She closed her eyes, pale lashes casting a shadow against her cheek as she steeled herself. She took a few steps closer to the group, but ultimately decided to keep quiet for now. Though they now had her full attention.

I, Kiwi, CONSENT to allow Halani to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by consenting to the former statement Halani has the ability to receive the plot specific item.

There was a silence that wormed its way throughout the woods. One that wasn't comfortable. It stretched across one like taunt skin; too tight, uncomfortable, and entirely too ill-fitting to be of any use. Something about the woods made Brynja's skin crawl in ways it hadn't in quite a long time. Not since -

Not since that fucking bear.

The mere tickle of the memory made the striped shieldmaiden snarl. Granted, her leg was doing much better now. She could move more easily and her speed was returning to her, yet a slight limp to her gait remained. It probably would stay with her for the rest of her life, judging by the extent of the pink scars that wrapped around the limb. The sensation of something wrong was afoot only deepened the mare's snarl as she continued onward. Never had the Red Woods felt so...sinister. So unwelcoming. What was happening? Something was very wrong here and Brynja was going to find out, hopefully with the gods at her back to protect her once more.

The deeper the stripped mare pressed into the woods, the more smells bombarded her nostrils. Decay. The coppery tang of blood. Fear. It caused Brynja's ears to lay back into her black mane as her icy blue gaze narrowed, a scowl replacing her snarl. The squish underneath her hooves had a story to tell, but she chose not to look down. She knew what it would tell her. The woods had seen so much death...Questions swirled in Brynja's mind as she continued on, though the most pressing one bothered her the most: what could have caused such carnage?

Her icy gaze fell on to a small gathering, her eyes briefly leaving them to note the carcasses strewn about. It drew a sound of disgust from within Brynja's throat as she approached one rather mutilated corpse in particular. Her nose crinkling as she observed its wounds. Brynja's gaze rose from the corpse to the others that had already been there - all strangers, save for the boy-king of Tryggr. She would have scoffed, had it not been for the seriousness of the situation. "This isn't a hunt for food. This was a hunt for sport. For game. Whatever did this has no intentions of stopping anytime soon."

Just what the culprit was bothered Brynja. She had been born here, raised within the very forests of these lands. Yet a beast capable of such carnage was unheard of, save for some very old tales...But those had been old legends, they had said. Meant to scare little fillies and colts into behaving and to save them from straying too far from the campfires at night. Maybe they were wrong, though. Maybe some of those legends were true.

"I, Mallory, CONSENT to allow [character name] to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by consenting to the former statement Brynja has the ability to receive the plot specific item.

Faelan

Guest

This wasn’t right.
After she had escaped the vast tangle of roots and cave that had led her reeling into this strange, strange land, she had immediately picked her way towards woodlands – although she had spent some time wandering vast open tundras in the past, the open sky remained disconcerting to her. The landscape was unfamiliar, but it was similar enough to the one she had grown up in to be relatively easy to navigate, and she made good time as she approached the distant expanse of redwoods. Although she was used to denser foliage than the massive trees would provide, there was something comforting about the great, unconquerable height of them all, a sense of significance far superior to the tangle of thickets. Some strange, innate, guttural part of her seemed to scream that she would find her way – or, at the very least, some notion of where she was – if she travelled towards the great redwood forest.
But oh – she was so, so wrong.
Faelan was familiar with the scent of blood, but not this strong - never this strong. As she trudged towards the redwoods, it grew stronger and stronger until it overwhelmed pine needles and bark and shrubs, sticking to the inside of her throat and practically suffocating her until she could almost taste the familiar tang; it mingled with the nauseating scent of rotting meat. Gods, who had let so many corpses lay out for so long? She glanced up at the sky, barely visible through the dense woodland trailing towards the redwoods, and, with a strange jolt of shock, saw no vultures circling. But this was a massacre…
She should have turned back, but she didn’t; she couldn’t. Her legs kept pressing her forward, towards the promise those redwoods provided.
And then she saw the corpses.
There were only a few of them, at first, but they made her stomach turn, and Faelan was a predator – she wasn’t unaccustomed to snapping a deer’s throat herself, or crushing a boar beneath her hooves. However, these corpses were absolutely brutalized. There was no efficiency in their deaths, nor elegance. If she had to place an emotion for the manner in which they were slaughtered, she would compare it to pure, unadulterated rage – and there was so much blood. These creatures had died painfully, and they had died in fear. One look at their rolled back, glass-marbles of eyes and expressions, permanently plastered with horrified wails (if they still had faces), could tell her that much.
It was too quiet.
There was no birdsong, no distant rustling, not even a breeze through the trees; the silence only seemed to grow more oppressive as she drew further and further into the woods. The trees cast odd shadows that seemed to grow with her movement, and the corpses -
The ground ran red.
At first, she could sidestep them, but soon…soon she might as well have been wading in death itself, the blood and gore clinging to her legs and sides like a second skin. Had every living creature in the forest been slaughtered? (Would she be next?) Pure adrenaline danced like fire through her veins, white-hot and urgent, and it begged her to turn tail and run, run, run - back towards the woods, towards the river, towards the cave from which she emerged. In her mind’s eye, she wouldn’t stop running until she reached the great, lush woodlands that she called her home. In reality, she continued to draw forward into the sea of blood as though possessed, a distant sense of urgency all that kept her in motion – if she stopped, she had the nauseating feeling that it would be the end of her. (Did it know she was here? Of course it did.) She was vaguely aware of the low hum of voices nearby, and she turned to edge towards them, spilling out of redwoods and onto the edges of a small gathering; other equines. (She felt another retching sense of disgust and immediately wondered if they were the culprits – but that thought was crushed immediately. The wounds didn’t match.) Supposedly, safety could be found in numbers, but her pale stare skimmed across them with little urgency or attention not because she could not understand them, though she could not, but instead because every fiber of her being was focused on the woods.
It felt to her a living, breathing thing – a hungry, furious animal, ready to consume her at the slightest misstep.
So, rather than focusing on the gathering, her ears snapped back against her skull, and her eyes darted around the empty space between the trees; every muscle in her body lay tense and rigid, and her legs bent fractionally, prepared to propel her into motion – violent or otherwise – at the first sign of the butcher. Her lips curled up in the slightest impression of a snarl, revealing the very tips of sharp, sharp teeth, but, should it decide to show itself, she already knew that her physical prowess would be of no use. She was not accustomed to playing prey, but she was no hunter in this place. Her skin crawls, as though under the weight of eyes, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand erect.
No, she thought, with another lurch of her stomach, she was just another foolish rabbit caught up in a trap – and now she could only wait for the hunter to retrieve his due.

tags | StorytellerCaelianMarenEzeraAndanteHalaniBrynjanotes | faelan's getting the "baptism by fire" intro to fim. (AKA I can't resist SWPs) please excuse my rambling."I, Jeanne, CONSENT to allow Faelan to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by consenting to the former statement Faelan has the ability to receive the plot specific item."

Thundersnow

Guest

Fresh from the maze of tree roots and The Centipede that had nearly eaten her, Thundersnow was not in good condition to begin with. Looking around her, she decided that the redwood forest looked most welcoming. The mountains back home were mostly bare rock, which she knew she didn't like, but she wasn't sure that she was ready for one of the more crowded, wet, green forests. The woods were quiet as her hooves carried her at a walk to replenish the energy lost in The Centipede's chase. It was almost too quiet, but Thundersnow didn't notice as her mind played back the lovely peach mare shrieking at The Centipede. I am not a fish! Now that she looked back on it, it was comical, and the Welsh mare chuckled to herself.

The next thing she knew, the metallic scent of dried blood and the stench of rotting corpses hit her like a buck to the face. Eyes wide, the small mare spooked away, ears pinning themselves against the white of her neck, but she was too exhausted from her journey through the root-maze to run. Instead, she had to slowly pick her way through the forest, coming across a few patches of corpses now and then. None were particularly big - it was all awful, of course, but there was an even bigger stench coming from somewhere. Thundersnow did not want to find out where.

Unfortunately, it would appear as if she had a horrible sense of direction. Slowly the bodies became more and more frequent no matter how much she tried to turn away. The little mare didn't want to think about what might have happened had the peach mare not appeared to help her through the root-maze earlier. Eventually she resorted to holding her breath as long as she could until she was forced to inhale, tears welling up from the carnage and its scent. Her legs started trembling from the overwhelming smells attacking her senses, and from the fear that rocketed through her veins. Her ears were still tightly pinned, her muscles, though burning from fatigue, felt like they would never relax. She could barely think through her muffled terror. Except... Water. Why did she think that? She was thirsty, yes, but surely there were more important things to worry about? Water. The thought came again, insisting, refusing to be ignored. Well, alright then. She would look for water. Even if she had absolutely no idea where to find it.

Hyper-aware though her senses were, she couldn't pick out the scent of the living from the dead until she was close enough that her dark eyes found them first. The stink was that strong. Thundersnow could have collapsed with relief. Other horses meant less danger, surely. They all seemed just as disgusted as she was with the slaughter, surely they would protect her should whatever beast did this come along. She did her best to ignore the tiny voice in her head telling her that if the beast could kill this many, what would these horses be able to do against it?

"Please..." her voice, tiny and strained and weak, trailed off. What was she asking for? She wanted protection, yes, but would they think her pathetic for asking it? It didn't matter. The fear was too strong for her to hold back. "I- I'm terribly lost..." It sounded ridiculous, even to her ears. But she was new to this land, and it didn't help that she already had no sense of direction. "I can't... can someone help..." Water, came the reminder once again. She pushed the thought aside. She didn't want to ask for too much, under the fear of the beast was always the fear that these horses would reject her, that she would be turned away from her only chance of survival. She couldn't let that happen.

"I, Larch, CONSENT to allow Thundersnow to receive injury, harm, or irreversible changes while participating in this plot. I understand that by consenting to the former statement Thundersnow has the ability to receive the plot specific item.

be swift!

“Fools.”

A voice bellowed through the Redwood, birthed from somewhere at a distance but also just behind their harks. The tail end of the single word drew in a hiss, echoing through the trees that ran crimson. Through the canopy, the reddening sky of dusk bathed the lands in the hue of blood. A moon, tarnished with rust, rose high and swift. The word claimed the silence of the wood, and with it, the stillness... in the trees, nearly a kilometer away, a black shadow materialized from behind a lone timber. It’s indiscernible features, but clearly lupine, prowled at a distance, until passing behind another tree it disappeared again. But that was odd... how could something so far away be so clear?

At their hooves, the woods began to tremble. Leaves rained from the quivering red wood’s branches, floating weightlessly and beautifully to the ground to rival the carnage. Pools of garnet rippled, and with the shuddering end of the tremor the haunting song of wolves rose. Their baying steadily grew in volume, not only in amplification but quantity. And again, a black figure materialized from behind a trunk, uninhibited, but this time so much closer. Eyes aglow with fire watched them as the slow, calculated steps drew the wolf - hardly, for it towered above them, it’s hackles brushing against low hanging branches - behind another trunk where it disappeared again.

“What did you think you would find here?” The disembodied voice inquired through the wolf song. Surfacing from the shadows as if coming up for air, the reflection in dozens of tapetum lucidum pierced the abyssal shadows with the tapering of howls.

“WHAT?” It roared in their ears, a guttural growl that bubbled and burst from inside their mind, and the behemoth Fenrir broke from behind the obscurity of trees. Branches bent and broke beneath his breadth as the underbrush splattered and sprayed at the gathered group. Around them, the woods trembled and quaked beneath the weight of his voice, as if not only from their mind’s did it ring but from the very depths of the mountains.

Planting a fore so that his stance was wide, the great wolf spirit’s jaw parted. Blood stained saliva dripped, slipping from the black pearl of his fangs and into the grounds that ran red. Having served an adequate distraction, his kin, his dire wolves manifested at the edges of the horses small clearing. A wicked grin drew back on the face of Fenrir, his red eyes studying each of them - so brave to come, so foolish - with deep interest.

“It is quite a pity…” His voice echoed once again, his mouth unmoving despite the intensity of his auditory presence, “that none of you can leave here.” A silent command drew the snapping and barking dire wolves’ attention to their father, offering a brief moment to marvel in their own size. They rivaled most of the equine there, standing equally as tall and wide, every ounce of their bodies pitch with obsidian. Their eyes, onyx with a gleam of ruby, all stared upon their master. He too peered at them, once to those gathered to the left, then to those on the right.

“Kill them.”

And the dire wolves descended.

Something is happening! The mighty spirit of Fenrir! So he's to blame! And his children seem hungry... Defend yourselves, participants! The wolves wait for no one! You have until July 20th to reply.

Seeing as how she really only knew two equines in this place it came as a bit of a surprise to see a familiar face approach among the gore. A different kind of concern and fear filled her veins as Andante asked the question she was just thinking herself. The desire to try and send him away lurked in the back of her mind but Ezera knew she couldn't do that, she had no right. The boy might feel like family but he was still her king and could do as he wished. The mute had been trying to come up with a reason for being there but was interrupted before she could give it.
Wolves had never scared her, not before today. She actually found them to be beautiful creatures that stayed in the distance. The shuddering of the ground probably didn't help the feeling that followed the sound of the wolves that appeared to now be surrounding them. Ezera moved until her shoulder lightly brushed against Andante's while golden eyes remained glued to the trees. The voice that could be heard over the eerie song felt like liquid ice as it reached her ears. You wouldn't think that just a voice could send so much fear and cause the heart to race but that's exactly what this one did. The desire to bolt, to escape, tried to push to the front of the mare's mind but she shoved it away. Running wouldn't have done anything anyway.
She hadn't noticed at first but with the yell that echoed through her head it felt familiar. Bright eyes narrowed a bit at this... thing's ability to use a magic she had only just discovered. The unicorn had to force herself not to flinch when the speaker emerged. She couldn't tear her gaze from the bloody spit that fell from his jaws to join the already crimson puddles on the ground. Her tongue gently ran along her own sharpened teeth but they would be useless.
His voiceless speech brought her attention back to what exactly was happening around them. The large wolves were something she had never thought about fighting before and honestly she wasn't sure exactly how they were going to get out of this all alive. There was no way of knowing how capable at fighting some of the others were and even the unicorn herself hadn't been in a true fight since she was a filly. And even then she hadn't managed to survive. This time there would be no help from any kind of otherworldly being, she was sure of that.
With those thoughts she might have just frozen and let the wolves do what they obviously wanted to do. How could you get the courage to fight a battle that seemed so impossible? Ezera refused to let her body freeze though. The last time she could have fought she didn't and it had ended in a way that she would never let herself relive again. In a twisted way she supposed that she had to be thankful for such an event since it had lit a fire inside of her that kept her going. It also had given her something to fight to return to and golden eyes turned molten as she watched the wolves and their master.
The command was barely heard by the mute as her heart thundered in her chest. With a quick glance at Andante she decided that at least one of them had to get through this. A resolve hardened within her and she charged forward to meet the closest dire wolf, head lowered so that her horn was aimed straight for the body.

Not a moment in Caelian’s life had been as nerve-racking as this. The gore that hung from the trees already had him on high end, but as more and more equines gathered around him in the blood-red light, he found this to be even more unsettling rather than comforting. And whatever comfort that remained in him ended when the great, bellowing voice rang through the air.

Fools.

Instantly, Caelian’s pale blue eyes scanned his visible surroundings, landing on dead body after dead body. It seemed to come from all directions, and his ears flicked, catching the sound as it bounced around him. Yet he relied not upon his ears, but his eyes. And his eyes betrayed him; he saw nothing but darkness.

Suddenly, the ground began to quiver. The woods began to shake. Leaves drifted to the floor and the freckled soverign looked up to catch the wonderous scene. Yet it was quickly ended by the howl that erupted through the night. Caelian looked around himself again. His eyes landed on a shadow, a shadow of a shadow, its eyes glowing as its menacing steps drew closer to the gathered group, but it was gone before the dark equine could draw a better look.

Once again, he wished for this friends.

And the voice broke the air once more. A question rose from the darkness, trailing with menace and hatred. It faded away into the howls of the wolves, as a shadow would fade from the light. But it was not gone long. It abruptly barked, loud and sudden, causing Caelian to jump slightly. He shook himself, fear gripping his heart tight.

Dirt hit his elegant features, and he blinked his eyes up at the behemoth of a wolf that now stood before the small group of horses. Blood riddled salivia dripped from its mouth, hitting the ground with small tink tinks.

Something moved in the man’s peripheral vision, and he turned his head to see the wolves manifesting all around the group, waiting in the darkness for their commander to give them the go ahead. Caelian shook himself again, his eyes wide and his teeth playing at the edge of his lip. As Fenrir’s voice broke the air once more, the dark horse’s ears swiveled to catch the words, yet his eyes remained on the surrounding wolves. They were as large as himself, the kin of the great spirit wolf.

Suddenly, all their ruby red eyes turned to their father, drawn in by an unknown order. What was not silent, though, was the threatening decree that left Fenrir’s mouth, simple and authoritive.

Kill them.

And the wolves broke loose. Caelian suddenly reared, shouting ”Watch out!” into the wind. He faced down a wolf that ran straight toward him and was no doubt heavier than himself. He planted his feet firm with a force that created a billow of dust, determination written upon his face. ”Not today,” he murmured to himself, waiting for the wolf to near. And just as it did, he thrust his head up as fast and hard as he could, his duo-horns aimed straight for the creature’s throat.

Nonpartisan

Unfortunately it was a rather common practice for Maren to be ignored. Many didn't care for her and the twisted, knee-jerk reactions that served as her social skills. It was said once, and it could be said again; she was the black sheep of a black sheep family. While their coats unified them, she long stood outside the group looking in. Perhaps in this fictional flock she'd sprouted two heads, or half a brain, and was deemed a danger by instinct. Perhaps her mother had a premonition of Maren's spiraling descent into madness (slow, agonizingly slow, sometimes she'd swirl upwards and surface before plunging back down. Would it ever stop?). So when the freckled aristrocrat - for that was what he was, wasn't he? His mannerisms betrayed him - the coal lipped witch could only break a wide, snaggle toothed grin.

"They don't need you, Maren."

"They don't understand."

"You've got us!"

The Women Within chanted in her ears, plump with unspoken promises of unconditional love. Their invisible, intangible touch drew the hedgewitch away, her dusty turquoise eyes across the rest of the accumulating faces. There was a menagerie of expressions - "They're scared", "Shocked!" - that painted the mask of their troupe, and it only brought a bubble of suave laughter from the youthful witch. As it crescendo-ed into unbridled, she clasped her skeletal marked lips to try and contain them, but they still leaked in odd, eerie hums. Long, silken banner lashing at her spotted rump, the rose adorned conjurer let loose a fit; her legs churned at the ground and her visage shook vigorously.

"Fools,"

It barrages the Women Within's voices, dampening them so that their shrieks of anger and surprise are masked by the sheer magnitude of the entity's claim. It halts the girl, her mane and tail swaying as she stills. Pupiless eyes bore into the red painted forest and there, there she sees it. A movement of shadow.

"Manifestation of darkness!"

"Darkness embodied!"

"Eyes red as blood", "Blood of the innocent!"

Maren's audits do not find a place to point. They rotate along her thorned crown with stutters and jolts, as if some sort of neural pathway had been severed and their functionality was lost. She quieted only in the sense that her hooves never left the blood saturated sod. Pools squelched beneath them as her forehand swayed back and forth, visage snaking down before snapping up, snaking down, then shaking. But those piercing, haunting turquoise orbits of hers remained steadfast on the shadowed figure that approached, even when the chorus of wolves seemed to deafen the realm.

Others lurched Fenrir manifested. Maren's body tensed, but her dulled fears did not unconsciously move her. Rather the long tresses at her rear thrashed, and the same bubbling, crazed laughter began to escape from her tightly drawn lips again. "Discord, bringing of desolation!", the Women Within serenaded over the hum of the wolf spirit's toiling observations.

Kill them.

"Kill them, kill them, kill them,", the young enchantress whispered, seeming to watch the dire wolves bolt into action in slow motion. Her forehand rose on coiled hindquarters, and her blood stained forelegs ripped through the air before her with an apex of her laughter. "Kill them, kill them!" She mimicked, launching herself towards an oncoming dire wolf with her blackened lips pulling back to display her ichor gums, and the obsidian, hooked fangs below.

Nonpartisan

More horses descended upon the grizzly scene and Halani could feel her wits leaving her with each increased presence. The more approached the more she wanted to back up and watch from a distance. She was curious about them all, there was no doubt about it. Though most of her dealings with strangers had been from a distance while she watched. Luckily for the young Dalish, they all seemed occupied with themselves as they moved about and inspected the blood and death. The scent hung in the air, suffocating-- like a hand wrapped around her throat that steadily grew tighter and tighter.

And even tighter still.

"Fools."

The ground shook beneath her inky hooves and she felt her gaze of clear skies drop to a thick puddle of blood at her feet. It rippled with each shake that reverberated through the forest. The hand was getting tighter on her throat and a rasping breath escaped her gently parted lips. The smell was growing heavier still. Blood. Dirt. Decay. Death. She felt as though she may wretch as bile rose in her throat, threatening to spill from her pale lips. And then he appeared. A chorus of wolves announcing his presence as the massive beast strode closer and closer.

The Dread Wolf.

He Who Hunts Alone.

Lord of Tricksters.

Roamer of the Beyond.

Her breath catches in her throat and she can barely stifle the audible shiver that runs down her spine. Beads of cold sweat roll down her gentle curves and her eyes widen. "Fen'ha--," she couldn't even get the words out. No. It wasn't him. The Dread Wolf wouldn't be here. No. This was...this was something else entirely. Uncertainty floods her senses again, cold fingers grasping her ribs like a rabid prisoner trying to break out. Her emotions rattled within her, shaking her bones and filling her with fear. She'd never felt like this before. Never truly been scared of something. Though to be fair she'd never been faced with such a foe before.

"Kill them."

You could have heard a pin drop despite the many sounds carrying through the trees. To Halani it was all she heard. Her tall ears turned back, barely tickling the thick curl of her mane. Her eyes slowly widened and nostrils quivered. Like a deer caught in the headlights she met the massive beast's terrifying gaze. She watched as the blood dripped from his mouth. A waterfall straight from hell. Her flesh twitched over her muscles as if her body was telling her to run. Run far away. Though she was no fool. She had no chance. They'd been warned they couldn't leave.

It was then that Halani finally managed to catch another sound. A wolf behind her moved, it's thick paws crunching fallen leaves beneath them. It was all she needed to be brought back to her senses. She was more than this. More than some scared little lamb waiting to be slaughtered. She would always be more. Flattening her ears, Halani steeled herself. She turned in a frenzy, all the fear disappearing from her eyes. Those clear blue eyes had darkened as a storm raged behind them. Spinning herself on her hind feet she caught sight of the wolf. She arched her neck, pulling her nose toward her chest as she descended upon him with her hooves and horn at the ready. Stomp and stab. Stomp and stab. It was all she could do.

Thundersnow

Guest

"Fools," declared the voice, and as the trees trembled at the Wolf's paws, Thundersnow trembled with them. Yes, she had been a fool. The Wolf was right. She shouldn't have come here. She shouldn't have ventured from her mountain home. She should have spent the night sleeping peacefully in the valley instead of travelling to seek a home so soon. She should have turned the other way as soon as the scent of blood struck her nose. (Didn't she?)

The Welsh stood frozen in the trees, redredred all around her. Rusted moon, scarlet blood, copper wood. Her fur, normally a ghostly, pure white, took on an eerie russet glow in the lighting. Howls rose from the dark, their song haunting and beautiful, clenching at Thundersnow's heart - but that was fear, wasn't it? Fear, and so much of it the mare could hardly move or think. The howls rose and fell and rose again, more wolves joining in on the chaotic symphony. The Wolf drew closer, every inch of its bristling fur towering over every one of the watching equines. Its voice, its roar, broke through the silence and shook her eardrums to their limits. Her terror-stricken mind wondered, briefly, if this was real at all. Surely a wolf, or any creature, could not be so big.

(Then again, she'd been chased down a maze of roots by a giant centipede who'd only been deterred by a peach mare insisting that she was not a fish. Anything was possible.)

Danger loomed ever closer; she could feel the tension in the air. The Wolf's words - kill them - left its muzzle, and finally, finally, Thundersnow reacted. Her eyes widened with the terror coursing through her blood, her pupils dilating, her blood pressure rocketing, oxygen and glucose racing to her muscles. Hide. Flee. said her usual solutions. But no, that wasn't possible. These wolves were too big, too powerful, and too many. Then FIGHT, her instincts insisted. Save yourself. But surely that wasn't possible either? How could she fight against these wolves? How could she possibly survive this? Surely the other horses would protect her. Surely she didn't need to fight. She'd only be useless, a hindrance.

No, that wasn't true. All around her horses were reacting, fighting for their lives. She couldn't just sit around and do nothing while these horses were fighting, risking their lives to defend against the wolves. Fighting was her only chance for survival. While the others had horns and fangs, Thundersnow's hooves and her normal, blunt teeth were her only weapons. She'd just have to do her best. The peach mare had defeated the centipede. Thundersnow wasn't sure she'd be able to achieve anything nearly as impressive, but all she could do was try. Her hooves raced to assist another horse against a dire wolf (because really, there was no chance she'd be able to take on one of those things on her own), her fatigue forgotten with the rush of adrenaline - she'd pay plenty of soreness for that tomorrow, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered was survival. Russet-tinged white flashed in the sparse lighting as she bucked and reared and kicked with all her might - she might be small, but there was still strength in those muscles, and would be until she collapsed from exhaustion.